


Asphodel

by Batshit_Bogs



Series: Through the Mirror [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, Damian Wayne is fucked up, Everyone is not okay, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Reverse Robins, Steph-centric, Stephanie Brown is fucked up, Tags will be added with each chapter, alcohol use, big sad time, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27161087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batshit_Bogs/pseuds/Batshit_Bogs
Summary: The funeral is a small, silent affair.It matches the casket buried six feet in the earth.It’s not even a real funeral - the burial was two days ago, and it was only attended by Jack. This is more of a fucked up reception.-Someone decided not to attend the funeral - and they'll pay for it.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Jon Lane Kent, Stephanie Brown & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: Through the Mirror [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937332
Comments: 30
Kudos: 207





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of three chapters - unless I decide to add more. It _should_ just be three.
> 
> This isn't the angsty-est thing I've written, but it's still pretty sad. I wanted to go into a little bit about Tim's death before I (maybe) start a bit of a project for this au. I'm not sure how well I'm writing grief, but eh. I tried lmao. I basically rewrote this once and then flung it into the Ao3 void
> 
>  **CWs**  
>  \- funeral  
> \- mentions of death/buried bodies
> 
> if I missed anything, lemme know

The funeral is a small, silent affair.

It matches the casket buried six feet in the earth.

It’s not even a real funeral - the burial was two days ago, and it was only attended by Jack. This is more of a fucked up reception. They’re all just a bunch of sad heroes in civvies, standing around a fresh grave as the rain pours down.

No one brought an umbrella, and no one is wearing a hood. If not for the waterlogged clothes and hair it’d be impossible to tell if it’s raining at all. It seems everyone had the same idea - whoever wants to cry can without being noticed.

Steph isn’t crying. Not yet, anyway. She probably will once she actually _feels_ something, instead of the numbness ringing in her chest since she got the call five days ago. The grave doesn’t seem real. Neither do the words carved in the headstone, the people around her, or Cass’ hand in hers. The rain soaking her is probably cold. She can’t tell.

The headstone is an unimpressive little thing. It makes Steph want to rip it out of the ground and beat Jack aover the head with it. He probably didn’t even _cry._ Everyone knows the Drakes didn’t give two shits about their son. Steph wouldn’t be surprised if Jack checked his watch as the casket was being lowered. 

He deserved - _deserves_ so much more. A statue, a monument, a celebration for a fallen hero. Instead all he gets is a slab of stone in the ground in a private cemetery. 

Someone sniffles. Only Steph glances towards the noise, and even then it’s out of the corner of her eye.

It came from the trio huddled on the right of the grave. Cassie and Bart have attached themselves to Kon’s sides, staring at the dark patch among old weeds. Kon has his arms over them both. Bart is trembling. 

Steph can’t bear to look at Kon’s blank expression, or how Cassie is clearly crying. She forces her gaze back to the grave and focuses on the way the rain pools in the soil. She doesn’t even want to _think_ about how Kon must feel. If she does then she’ll break, and she isn’t ready to feel yet. 

Cass squeezes her hand and inhales a shuddering breath. Steph presses their shoulders together, trying to offer comfort she doesn’t have. Usually having Cass this close makes her stomach flip, but right now she can barely register it. 

Not a single person has spoken in the hour they’ve spent standing here. When Steph arrived the Bats were already standing in silent vigil, and as each person trickled in no one dared break the silence. It was like they were waiting for Bruce to say something. He didn’t, so neither did anyone else.

Steph kind of wants to strangle him for it. Something should be said. _Anything._

The Bats...yeah, Steph doesn’t want to think about that. They’re clustered as a pack, just like always. Steph is jealous, if she’s being honest. Between her part-time job and school, Spoiler isn’t out very often, so she can’t really be considered a _bat._ They go out every night, facing death head-on and sometimes briefly meeting it. Any of them could die at any moment, and for that they hold onto each other as tight as they can.

Case in point. 

All of the Bats grieve as one quiet entity - well. Almost all of them.

Damian Wayne is conspicuously absent. 

Steph clenches her free hand into a fist as she recalls his response to Bruce asking him to come to the ‘funeral’. She had been unlucky enough to be in the room when Bruce called. The phone had been on speaker, for whatever reason. Damian said one thing.

‘ _I_ _did not care for Drake.’_

Then he hung up, and that was that. Steph had punched the wall hard enough to split skin as Bruce had slumped in his armchair, looking utterly destroyed. No one went to Bludhaven to try and convince the eldest Wayne. She’s pretty sure no one wanted to. 

She thought Damian had been doing better. She thought he had...

Steph inhales a lungful of crisp, rainy evening air. Now isn’t the time or place to get angry. Later, though, she’s going to punch that arrogant _bitch_ in the face and give him a piece of her mind. She glances at Jon, who’s here with the rest of the Titans. He looks the perfect mix of miserable and infuriated - at least Steph isn’t the only one who’s upset about the missing attendee. 

There’s a soft sigh off to her right. It probably came from Superman. In any other situation Steph would be swooning from the presence of both him and Wonder Woman, two of the world’s greatest heroes (Bruce doesn’t count), but seeing them here, their civvies drenched with rain...they just look human. Like normal, sad people.

Over the course of the next hour, people start leaving. First the Titans, then Superman and Wonder Woman. They don’t give their condolences, nor do they send the Bats sympathetic looks. They simply walk off into the mist like they were never even there.

Some of the Bats leave, too. Steph doesn’t notice until Cass’ hand leaves hers, and she looks up to see only Bruce standing beside her. On the other side of the grave Kon stands alone. She hadn’t seen Bart or Cassie leave, either.

_Then there were three,_ Steph thinks bitterly.

The father, the friend, and the almost-boyfriend.

Four, counting the small body laying six feet under. So close, yet farther than any of them can reach.

Steph sighs and slips her hands into her pockets. 

“He would’ve hated this,” she mutters.

Kon huffs. It might’ve been a pathetic attempt at a laugh. “A whole bunch of people silently staring at him for over an hour? Yeah.”

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Steph says in her best imitation of _his_ voice. 

A startled laugh escapes Kon, and a moment later he and Steph are doubled over as they laugh hysterically without a drop of humor. Steph stumbles and falls on her ass, which sets them both off even harder.

The numbness in her veins is slowly being replaced by a unique sort of hurt as she cackles. Something all-encompassing is expanding in her chest, and it isn’t laughing pains. She doesn’t know _what_ it is. One of her giggles hitches in her chest, and suddenly she’s sobbing uncontrollably. 

Across from her Kon is crying, too. He’s kneeling with his fingers digging into the mud like he’s scared he’ll float away. His sobs are so heart-wrenching that Steph wonders if they’ll be digging a second grave tonight. Can people die from broken hearts?

Bruce lowers himself to the ground and pulls her into his arms. One of Steph’s sobs stutters on a laugh as she thinks about how absurd it is that Batman is hugging her. Normally she wouldn’t be caught being held like one of his kids - he’s not her _dad -_ but right now she can’t find it in herself to care. 

“It’s not fair,” she gasps, weakly punching Bruce’s chest. “It’s not fucking _fair.”_

No one deserves to die like he did. 

“No, it isn’t,” Bruce murmurs. His voice breaks on the last syllable and his arms tighten as his chest begins to stutter with uneven breaths. It only makes Steph cry harder.

One of his arms lifts, and a second later Kon falls into the embrace. Steph takes one of his hands and laces their fingers together. Kon squeezes hard enough that her bones creak, but yet again she just can’t care. It’s nothing compared to the agony roiling within her.

The rain seems to pour down harder as Steph and Kon fall apart in Bruce’s arms. It’s a drumming background to the sobbing coming from each one. 

A broken wail splits the air - Kon. Steph presses her forehead into his shoulder as her own howl rips from her chest, the pain too great to withhold. They’re just kids screaming from the grief of losing their best friend, and isn’t that the worst part? They’re _just kids._ Kids who are far too young to know a loss like this.

Steph’s throat hurts with each cry, but she can’t stop.

Tim is _gone._

He’s buried right next to them, but he’s _gone._

Tim, sweet, wonderful, _chaotic_ Tim. The kid she’s spent countless nights hanging out with on rooftops. The kid who would buy the food during their hang-outs and complain even though he’s rich. Tim, the bravest, strongest, and most sarcastic person Steph has ever met. A hero in every sense of the word. Someone who deserved the world and more. 

Steph will never get to greet him with a punch again or make fun of his shitty taste in fashion. There’ll be no more rooftop tag, no more deep talks, no more talking about their crushes at three a.m at that terrible diner they’re both so fond of. She won’t fight side-by-side with him again, or pester Jon and Damian in Bludhaven. He won’t be there when she sits at their usual meetup spot. Steph won’t hear him making terrible quips and jokes with his dry sense of humor.

Tim Drake is dead.

The world has never felt colder.

  
  
  
  


Eventually they tire themselves out, and Bruce pulls them off of the muddy ground and into the manor. Kon accepts the wordless invitation to stay the night, and Steph wouldn’t have left for the end of the world. 

Alfred directs them to rooms with showers and gives them fresh changes of clothes. Steph doesn’t look in the bathroom mirror as she showers and changes - she knows she looks like shit. The Gotham-U hoodie she slips on is soft from years of use, and it’s big enough to reach her knees. It’s probably Bruce’s. Whatever, he isn’t getting it back. The leggings are Cass’. She isn’t getting them back, either.

The manor is silent as she creeps through its halls, looking for where the Bats have no doubt congregated. Alfred finds her wandering around and silently guides her to one of the upper floors, sorry in his eyes. He stops by a door, nods to her, and leaves. There’s muted music coming from inside. Steph reaches for the handle and hesitates as she realizes where she is.

It’s Tim’s room.

Damn it, she can’t _do_ this. She just went to his fucking grave, and now…

Steph opens the door.

There’s a bat-pile on the gigantic bed. All of the Bats (plus Kon, minus Bruce and Damian) are cuddled up in the dark, staring at the t.v with lidded eyes. The light from the screen casts soft, color-changing lights on them.

Cass, from the center of the pile, takes notice of her and waves her over. Steph exhales through her nose and closes the door behind her. It takes some maneuvering to clamber over Duke and Cullen, but eventually she flops into the space between Cass and Kon. 

The bed is as unbelievably soft and plush as ever. On the rare occasion that Steph would come to the manor to help Tim study she’d always flop onto the unnecessary amount of pillows and take a nap. He had to drag her off each time. 

As soon as Steph wiggles into a comfortable position, Cass winds her arms around her waist and Kon drapes an arm over her shoulders. Duke adjusts so that he’s using her legs as a pillow. On the other side of the bed Cullen has burrowed into Kon’s side, while Harper has draped herself across Kon’s legs and is resting her head on Duke’s stomach. 

Star Wars, The Clone Wars is playing on the t.v - Tim’s favorite. 

Steph takes in the presence of the people around her and the comforting, familiar smell of the room. The walls are covered in theory boards, pictures, and corney posters. The shelves are covered in various trinkets. There’s a batarang on one of them. 

It's a far cry from the blank, empty room at Drake manor. The few times Steph went there she felt like she was in a mausoleum. Tim’s room had only the bare necessities - nothing that proved someone lived there. 

It’s clear he considered Wayne manor his home. 

Steph closes her eyes, letting the sound of the t.v and the warm bodies pressed against her sides wash over her. She’s absolutely exhausted. Her face and throat hurt from crying. If her voice is gone for the next week, she won’t be surprised.

At some point Harper starts snoring, and everyone’s breathing evens out. Even though she’s spent, Steph can’t sleep, even though she craves that soft oblivion more than anything right now. 

It’s fine, she supposes. At least she isn’t alone, and with her eyes closed she can pretend Tim is one of the people on the bed. 

As soon as she’s starting to drift off, the door creaks open, then clicks shut. A moment later the t.v turns off and Cass’ side of the bed dips. Steph lifts her eyelids just enough to see Bruce sitting with his back against the headboard - she had been wondering why such a large space on the bed had been left open. The siblings must have known he’d be joining them. 

Bruce is gazing at his kids with so much pain and love in his eyes that Steph fears she might start crying all over again. He’s rhythmically carding his fingers through Cass’ hair. 

For some reason Steph feels like she and Kon are intruding. Well, it’s too late to leave now. She wouldn’t be able to extract herself from the pile if she wanted to. 

His presence brings an extra layer of comfort to the room. Steph finally falls asleep, safe in the manor, surrounded by friends.

She dreams of sitting with her best friend on a rooftop, watching the stars. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph goes to Bludhaven to track down Damian and demand answers. It doesn't go anything like she planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I misread my own notes and stuff but there's actually four chapters. Oops lol 
> 
> **CWs**  
>  _\- drunk character  
>  \- alcohol  
> \- drug mentions  
> \- vomiting  
> \- referenced funeral  
> \- lotsa swearing_
> 
> If I missed anything please let me know!

The next night after the ‘funeral’ finds Steph marching down a Bludhaven street with murder on her mind. Not literal murder - more of a verbal slaughter. Maybe she’ll throw in a couple punches. It depends on how the night goes. 

Steph scowls at the red dot on her phone map that represents the location of one Damian Wayne. The tracker app (specifically designed by bats, for bats) keeps tabs on all of Bruce’s brood, just in case someone can’t answer their comms or...or disappears.

It’s worked almost every time. _Almost._ Figures the one time it didn’t is the one time it was the worst case scenario.

Steph swallows the rising bile in her throat and walks faster. She doesn’t want to think about it, so she won’t. The only thing that should be on her mind is giving Damian a piece of her mind. She really wishes Jon were with her, like they planned (he was going to come along to make sure she doesn’t actually kill Damian). It was going to be a joint interrogation, good cop bad cop style. Unfortunately he got held up with some Titans business, so she’s on her own for now. They’re keeping a text stream open to update each other.

Kon offered to come with, but Steph knew then Damian might _actually_ die, so she declined. All talk of murdering the eldest bat is purely hypothetical - they don’t need to lose anyone else.

For the third time that night she trips over a pothole in the uneven sidewalk. Gotham might have shitty people, but at least most of it is somewhat clean. Bludhaven is just plain nasty. It’s got the criminal infestation along with a corrupt police force to rival the GCPD, and that’s not even mentioning the permanent stench in the air. Or all of the crumbling neighborhoods and overflowing dumpsters. 

Why Jon and Damian decided to go to college _here,_ she’ll never understand. 

Steph only comes to Bludhaven to pester Damian, visit his cat, or if she’s tagging along with...with Tim, but she has a bitch-ass bat to beat up. That’s reason enough, she thinks. Other than that she steers clear of this crappy city.

As she speeds along, she tries to come up with some sort of script for the inevitable shouting match. Damian isn’t one to take things lying down - he’s going to fight back with all of his teeth bared. 

Steph, for all of her vengeful anger, isn’t happy this is happening. 

It’s just...they’ve become friends over the years. Sure, they had a rough start. She knew him only as the asshole that beat the shit out of her best friend and verbally tormented him every chance he got. Steph never really got over that, not completely, but once she and Duke kicked some sense into him, Damian began to patch things with Tim. After that it wasn’t long until she got why Jon and the Bats care about him so much. 

For his prickly, arrogant exterior he’s actually a really chill guy. It helps if you know how to speak Damian (Steph is still rusty). His sense of humor is solid, he’s loyal to a fault, cares aggressively for those he deems worthy, and is a shit-ton of fun to bicker with. When Steph needs to push someone’s buttons and have them push back, Damian is her go-to. 

So yeah, Steph isn’t happy she’s tracking him down to punch him for abandoning his family when they need him most. 

That’s not all. The whole ‘I don’t care for Drake’ thing is a steaming pile of _bullshit._ She _knows_ Tim had a place somewhere in that iron heart of Damian’s. He tried so hard to make things right with Tim in his own subtle, backwards way, so for him to just up and refuse to go to the funeral is weird as fuck. He hasn’t even been in Gotham since everything went to shit.

Steph huffs and glances at the tracker. Wherever Damian is, he picked a shitty part of town - and that’s saying something. 

Her phone pings with a new text. Steph ignores Kon’s messages asking if she needs backup and instead opens her texts with Jon.

**Received**

_have u found him yet???_

  
  


**Sent**

_not yet_

_and u rlly havent seen him since yesterday?_

**Received**

_i saw him when i left for class_

_then the titans needed us but he didnt turn up so…_

Steph chews the inside of her cheek. That doesn’t bode well. Damian doesn’t just skip out on Titans business - they’re his team, after all. Jon also mentioned earlier that Damian hasn’t attended class or his part-time job in days. Through the anger simmering under her skin Steph’s starting to get worried. 

Damian could be anywhere. God, she really hopes he isn’t in a _strip club_ or something like that.

Damian is _not_ in a strip club, thank fuck.

No, he’s somewhere much more out of character. Steph frowns up at the broken neon sign, then down at the tracker. There has to be a glitch.

It’s saying he’s in a _bar,_ which isn’t right on every level. For one, Damian despises alcohol. It ‘impairs his cognitive function’ or some shit like that. There’s no way he’d be caught dead in a bar, much less an obviously terrible one like this. 

It couldn’t hurt to check, though. Steph hopes they don’t check I.D - though if Damian is really in there, that won’t be a problem. He’s still half a year shy of 21. Before going in she updates Jon.

**Sent**

_found him...i think_

  
  


**Received**

_and???_

  
  


**Sent**

_the tracker says he’s in a bar_

  
  


**Received**

_frick_

_i’ll be there as soon as i can_

Steph pockets her phone and slips into the rundown building.

It’s even worse inside. The first thing that slams into her is the heavy cigarette-and-alcohol smell, the second is the horrible 80’s rock blaring through tinny speakers. There’s a surprising amount of people clustered around the bar (maybe the booze is good), which looks like it’s been shot multiple times and patched with duct-tape. Half of the ceiling lights are out. Someone is asleep on the pool table. 

Steph frowns as she scans the faces around the bar. The single bartender glances up at her once, then goes back to serving some douchey looking biker. Looks like they don’t care about I.D here. Yay, Bludhaven. 

Well, none of the faces are familiar, so the tracker is definitely broken - oh, son of a bitch.

“Holy fucking shit,” Steph breathes. 

Damian goddamn Wayne is sitting at a corner table in the back of the building, where most of the lights are out. He has one boot propped up on the edge of the table. There’s a mostly empty bottle in front of him, along with a half-full glass. One of his arms is resting on his raised shin, and he’s staring blankly at the amber liquid in the glass as he turns it with his fingertips. 

Steph picks her way through the crowd, glaring when one of the guys gives her a once-over. There must be a special fire in her eyes tonight, because he quickly turns back to his drink and doesn’t look at her again. 

She stops next to Damian and crosses her arms. He doesn’t seem to notice her at first, but Steph is a patient person (no she isn’t). She raises an eyebrow and scans the drink he got. The bottle label tells her it’s an unnecessarily strong whiskey - jesus, he either didn’t know what he was buying or knew _exactly_ what he was buying.

A long minute passes, and Steph’s patience runs out. She kicks the chair.

Damian jolts and tilts his head back to look up at her. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus on her, but when they do, he smiles lopsidedly. 

“Steph, hey,” he slurs, blinking sluggishly. 

And doesn’t that just set off every red flag in Steph’s head? Never, not once in her three years of knowing him, has he called her ‘Steph’. He only ever refers to her as ‘Brown’, or ‘Stephanie’ if he’s in a chipper mood. Oh, and he seems genuinely happy to see her, which is bizarre. The anger that’s been lodged in Steph’s throat since she woke up is fizzling out at an alarming rate. 

“Siddown, siddown,” Damian continues, waving clumsily at the other chair pushed up to the table. “Have a drink, on me.”

“I’m...way underage,” Steph says as she plops into the chair, completely bewildered. 

“Are you?” Damian lifts his eyebrows. “Huh, I guess you are. Technically I am as well, but a few months doesn’t count. Days? Hm.”

“You’re drunk as fuck, aren’t you?”

Damian giggles - _giggles._ He picks up his glass and knocks the rest of the whiskey back, then refills it. 

“Oho, yeah,” he says. “I can’t even _think._ M’head is all fuzzy, it’s greeaat.”

Oh, man, this is not good. There’s a whole lot stuffed in that sentence that Steph doesn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. It’s bad enough that he’s a loopy giggly bitch and not an angry drunk like Steph expected. _That_ would’ve been easier to deal with. His accent is also _much_ more pronounced than usual, to the point where she’s having a hard time understanding him. Though that might just be the drunken slur.

“How much have you had to drink?” Steph asks. _Please say just a few glasses. Please be a lightweight. I don’t want to have to take you to the hospital._

Damian squints at the now empty bottle. “Uh, this? Maybe. Dunno...there were some shots earlier.”

“God damn it, Damian.” Steph presses her lips in a firm line and digs her phone out of her pocket. 

**Sent**

_please tell me you’re nearby_

  
  


**Received**

_getting there_

_is everything okay???_

  
  


**Sent**

_Damian is drunk outta his mind_

_he called me Steph and giggled. GIGGLED, JON_

_its freaking me the fuck out_

  
  


**Received**

_oh, no….how much did he drink?_

Steph snaps a picture of the disaster laid out before her. Damian catches her in the act and throws up a peace sign as he sips at his glass. She grimaces - it looks extra terrible with the dim lighting and empty bottle. 

**Sent**

_*image attached*_

  
  


**Received**

_jesus fucking christ_

Steph nearly chokes on her own spit. She’s never heard Jon curse, in text or in person. He’s the friend that says ‘language’ and tries to censor everything. 

“How have you not died from alcohol poisoning yet?” she asks as she waits for the next text.

Damian shrugs, peering into his drink. “Fuck if I know. Ra’s did all sorts’a shit to me in the League.” He snorts. “Might’ve been the pit.”

The pit, like...the Lazarus Pit pit? Isn’t that a ‘bringing people back to life’ thing? Yet another thing that Steph doesn’t want to look too deep into the connotation of, and instead focuses on her sudden desire to punch Ra’s Al-Ghul in the face. Damn it, she’s supposed to be mad at Damian. 

Her phone buzzes, giving her a nice distraction from _that_ train of thought. 

**Received**

_bring him outside_

Finally. She sighs and stands up - time to haul a drunk ex-assassin out of a dingy bar. At least Damian isn’t a tree like his father.

“C’mon, Damian, lets go.”

Damian scrunches his nose up. “Nah.”

“Dude. You’ve had enough.”

In a display of true maturity, Damian sticks his tongue out and chugs the rest of his drink.

Steph lifts her arms and drops them. She doesn’t fucking need this right now, or ever. Dealing with angry, sober Damian would be a dream come true.

“Don’t make me get Jon,” she threatens.

Damian’s eyes _light up._ “Jon? Is ‘e here?”

“Uh, yeah…” Steph jabs her thumb over her shoulder. “He’s outside.”

“Why didn’t you start with that?” Damian stands up (nearly knocks over the table in the progress), slams a fifty down, and walks face-first into the wall. 

Steph rolls her eyes as she grabs him by the arm and pulls him in the direction of the door. He slumps what has to be his full weight on her and she almost crumples.

“Holy _hell_ you’re heavy,” she wheezes, struggling to keep him upright. Some assholes snicker at them.

“Thank you,” Damian says with perfect clarity. He tips an invisible hat to the bartender as they stumble by, then continues with, “‘M happy Jon is here. Jon’s great. Love Jon.”

“Yeah, I know.” It’s common knowledge that Damian is completely whipped for his best friend, and vice-versa. Steph’s been watching the two of them unknowingly flirt with each other for the past year. 

A guy at the end of the bar swivels to face them as they near and asks, “Need some help there, little lady? It looks like your friend here could use an extra hand.”

Oh, Steph does _not_ like the way he’s eyeing Damian. She shifts him to the other shoulder, putting herself between him and whoever the fuck this asshole is. 

In her best growl, she hisses, “Come any closer and I break your arm in half. Back. Off.”

He raises his hands and turns back around, but not without another contemplative glance at Damian. For the first time tonight Steph is glad she’s here.

Somehow they make it outside without further incident, and Steph gasps in a lungful of rancid Bludhaven air. It’s still better than the cigar/shit smell of the bar. 

Jon straightens from where he was leaning against a flickering lamp post. He’s in a bomber jacket, ripped jeans, and a band t-shirt. The usual stuff, thank fuck. It’s blissfully inconspicuous - Steph was half afraid he’d show up in the full Flamebird getup. 

“Damian?” he calls, hesitantly approaching them. 

Damian lifts his head from where it was resting against Steph’s. He catches sight of his friend and _beams._

“J,” he breathes. “Oh, it’s fuckin’ fantastic to see you.”

Jon’s expression pinches and he turns his concerned gaze on Steph. “Is he okay?”

“Not one bit,” she answers honestly.

Damian, on the other hand, disagrees. He blows a raspberry and scoffs, “Oh, I’m _fine._ I can’t feel a damn thing, which, frankly, is an impave - im _prove_ ment.”

Jon’s expression goes from ‘I’m worried about my best friend’ to ‘kicked puppy’. “Okay, D. Let’s get you home.”

“Can you take him? Like, yesterday, please?” Steph bucks up to rearrange Damian’s weight, which does nothing to help. “He’s heavier than he looks.”

Jon sighs, shrugs out of his jacket, and trades it for Damian. When Steph gives him a weird look as she takes it, he says, “It’s cold out tonight.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steph slips it on - it’s comically big on her, and perfectly warm. She hadn’t even noticed the chilly night breeze until it settled on her shoulders.

“Whee,” Damian says as Jon lifts him bridal-style like he’s an empty duffel bag and not nearly two-hundred pounds of muscle. He slings an arm over Jon’s shoulders as they start walking, and Steph can see his fingers toying with the fluffy hair at the base of Jon’s neck. “Y’know, J.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“I love it when y’ carry me like this.” Damian’s head lolls as he tries to look at the passing scenery. “Never say it. ‘S always when I’m dying, though.”

Yet another emotion piles onto Jon’s face. At this point Steph can’t tell what he’s feeling. She pulls the jacket tighter around her shoulders.

“I almost die a _lot._ ‘S weird.”

“I keep telling you to be more careful,” Jon says.

Damian waves his hand dismissively, smacking Steph in the process. “Perhaps.”

Steph glares at him as she rubs her smarting nose. “I want normal Damian back.”

Jon casts her a pained look. “Tell me about it. I’m kinda freaking out here.”

“I came here to yell at him, and now I’m just worried, it _sucks.”_ Steph sighs and shoves her hands in the jacket pockets. She rolls a lint ball around with her fingers as she talks. “I’m glad we got to him when we did, though. This one guy tried to make a move - pretty sure he would’ve roofied Damian.”

Not that Damian would even need to be roofied in his state, which is a terrible thought.

It’s brief, but Jon’s expression turns positively _dangerous,_ and she’s pretty sure there’s a flicker of red in his eyes. He tightens his hold on Damian every so slightly.

“No one would _dare_ rooby me,” Damian scoffs, completely butchering the word ‘roofie’. His slur is getting worse. The last few glasses of whiskey must be kicking in.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Jon says, “because if they did I’d melt their faces.”

Damian pokes his cheek. “You would _not._ You’re too much of a..a…” he scowls and mutters a long string of Arabic. 

“I have no idea what that means, but I’m pretty sure you called me a goody-two-shoes or something like that.”

“Ssh.”

Steph cracks a smile. It’s the first genuine one in days. “Not gonna lie, he’s entertaining like this.”

“Entertaining isn’t always good,” Jon says.

“What’re you two mumblin’ ‘bout,” Damian asks, glancing between them with half lidded eyes. 

“You,” Steph says.

“Oh. Why?”

“Because you’re drunk, which has never happened.”

Damian hums as he starts picking at a loose thread on Jon’s shirt. “Dunno why I’ve never tried it before. ‘M completely numb. ‘S so _nice.”_

“Damian,” Jon sighs. The single word holds too much emotion for Steph to even try to understand. Damian giggles again - she’s starting to hate that noise. 

Before she can stop herself, Steph blurts, “Why do you want to be numb?”

“Felt like shit, y’know. Wanted it to stop.” His crooked smile slides into a frown. “Didn’t want t’ feel anything.”

Logically, Steph shouldn’t push, but she hasn’t been thinking straight since she lost her best friend. “You couldn’t deal with your feelings, so you got shitfaced? What could’ve made you _that_ desperate.”

Damian locks eyes with her, and she nearly stops walking from the intensity in his green eyes. It’s like he’s peeling away the layers of her soul just by looking at her.

His lips twitch in a small, woeful smile, and he murmurs, “M’ little brother just died.”

Steph’s breath catches in her throat. She looks helplessly up at Jon, who’s gazing down at Damian with deep sorrow in his eyes.

Damian pats his friend’s face, smiles at both of them, and rolls out of Jon’s arms to vomit on the sidewalk.

“Fuck!” Steph swears, leaping out of the splash zone. Jon kneels and rubs Damian’s back as he dry-heaves, murmuring senseless comforts. 

This is _really_ not how Steph expected the night to go. Something hot and cold twists in her gut. It feels kind of like shame, or guilt, or..she doesn’t even know. She hadn’t even imagined Tim as the reason Damian got drunk. Like, yeah, he cared for Tim, but Steph didn’t think he’d chug whiskey in his grief. Her gut squeezes tighter at the thought of her best friend, and she cuts the train of thought off, instead wincing in sympathy as Damian finishes heaving. 

Damian groans as Jon picks him back up, looking seven shades more exhausted than a minute ago. Have those bags been under his eyes the whole time? Man, he looks _terrible._ He mumbles something in what might be arabic, english, or plain nonsense babbling. Jon sighs and keeps walking, holding his unconscious friend like he’s the most important cargo in the world.

They finish the walk to Jon’s car in silence. Steph is glad he brought it - she bussed to Bludhaven, like the anger-blind idiot she had been an hour ago.

Jon sets Damian in the backseat and buckles him in as Steph takes shotgun. Their drunk friend doesn’t react beyond a couple of tired mumbles. 

They stay quiet until a few minutes into the drive down seedy streets. 

“He’s really not okay,” Jon says, his gaze fixed on the road.

Steph raises an eyebrow. “Genius deduction, Sherlock. What tipped you off, the drunk vomiting or his desire to be numb?”

“Steph.”

“Sorry.” Steph grimaces at herself and focuses on the street lamps flashing by. 

Jon sighs a few minutes later. “Damn it...I should’ve seen this coming. He’s been spiraling, but I didn’t think - I never considered…”

He just swore for the second time tonight, Damian is drunk off his ass...the world must be coming to an end. 

“What do you mean?” Steph asks, even though she doesn’t want to. 

“The other night, before the, uh, funeral -”

They both wince.

“-Damian broke down. It was right after Bruce called him to ask -”

“I know. I heard it.”

Jon’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I’ve never seen him cry like that. He tried _so hard_ to find Tim.”

Steph flinches at the use of his name and shoves down the lump in her throat. “He tried to find him?” she says instead of sobbing.

“Yeah. He wouldn’t sleep or eat, much less talk. All he did was patrol and go over evidence.” Jon sighs - it’s a world-weary sound. “He wasn’t himself.”

Steph glances at Damian through the rearview mirror. His face is squished against the glass, and every other second his breath fogs up the glass in little puffs. Despite the designer bags under his eyes and the shadow of stubble on his jaw, he looks blissfully at peace. 

The feeling in her gut is definitely guilt. She came to Bludhaven to scream at him until her voice gave, without considering how he might be feeling. Or how all of this is affecting him. She can’t promise she _won’t_ still yell at him, but...she’ll try to be more gentle.

They don’t speak for the rest of the ride.

It’s only a few more minutes before they pull into the parking garage for Jon and Damian’s apartment building. Steph gets out and leans against the hood as Jon slides Damian out of the car. He doesn’t move for a lingering moment, just gazes down at Damian with pain and love. Steph clears her throat and he jolts back into reality. Jon blushes and kicks the door closed before brushing past her. She rolls her eyes and follows him into the building. 

Each time she visits, Steph wonders why Damian won’t just suck it up and ask his (billionaire) dad to buy him a nicer place. Sure, she doesn’t know exactly what went down between them a few years back, but it can’t be so bad that he refuses anything from Bruce. Then again, when Damian holds a grudge, he grips it with both hands and doesn’t let go.

Their apartment is small and cramped. The main living space is completely taken up by one couch, a t.v, a coffee table, and a potted plant in the corner. The kitchen - separated from the living space by a breakfast bar and a dining table - can barely hold two people at once, and the stove doesn’t light half the time. Also, the water pressure in their shower sucks ass. 

Steph trails Jon to Damian’s bedroom, where she hovers in the doorway. It feels like she’s intruding as Jon lays Damian down, removes his boots and jacket, and tucks him in.

Damian mumbles something in his sleep, not quite loud enough to make out. She doesn’t think she’d be able to understand it, anyway.

Jon presses a kiss to his forehead and whispers back - Steph walks away from what is clearly an intimate moment and goes to the tiny storage closet in the hallway. She digs a blanket and pillow out of the jenga-like mess. It won’t be the first time she’s crashed on the couch here, and it probably won’t be the last. 

The couch, unlike the rest of the apartment, is roomy and comfortable. Steph sits in the middle, fluffs up the pillow from its flattened state, and puts it against the armrest. The dim light filtering in through the blinds is just enough to see by, so she doesn’t bother turning on the lamp on the end table. She leans back with the folded blanket in her hands, sliding her palms over the soft surface, trying not to get caught up in memories.

Like sitting on the floor with Tim and Jon, playing Mario Kart as Damian made dinner.

Or watching Tim argue with Damian over a case they were working on together - Steph was so proud of them in that moment. Tim had come so far from the nervous mess he had been around Damian, and Damian was a far cry from the cruel antagonist he had been towards Tim. 

Or Jon taking both Steph and Tim for a flight over New Jersey, the two of them laughing and whooping as they twisted through the air. Tim had been breathless afterwards, and had grilled Jon for details on how he flew and what it’s like to have that power all the time. 

And that afternoon she and Jon had come back from picking up lunch to find Tim asleep on the couch, using Damian’s shoulder as a pillow. Damian had given them his best glare (it stopped being intimidating ages ago) and threatened them to never speak of it. He let Tim sleep on him for two hours. 

A tear drips off of Steph’s nose to make a dark spot on the blanket. Then another. And another. She twists the blanket in her hands and presses her forehead to it, crying silently. At least she isn’t sobbing uncontrollably like she has been the past few nights. 

She misses him _so much._ It hasn't even been a week since they lost Tim, and already Steph wonders how she can go on without him. He was her best friend. He knew all of her secrets, her hopes and dreams, and she knew his. He was everything.

Something soft nudges her hand with a small “ _Mew.”_

Steph sniffs and drags her wrist across her nose. Ah, man...she’ll have to apologize to Jon for getting snot on his jacket. She blinks at Alfred the Cat, who’s watching her intently with big, soulful eyes. He meows again and butts his head against her arm. 

“Hey, Alf,” Steph croaks. She pulls the cat into her lap and starts running her hands through his thick fur. He immediately starts up a rumbling purr. “You sure know how to comfort a gal, huh?”

“ _Mrow.”_

Steph laughs wetly. Cats really are stress relievers - she feels better already. Not by much, but at least it’s something. Alfred kneads the front of her shirt and squints.

“I see Alfred’s found his spot for the night,” Jon says as he steps into the room. He looks...wow, he looks almost as horrible as Damian. Steph hadn’t noticed, but there are shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders are slumped as if a weight is pressing them down. 

“I’m surprised he didn’t make a beeline for Damian,” she says.

“He could tell you need him more right now.” Jon crosses his arms and leans against the wall. He fixes her with his trademark ‘concerned mom friend’ look. “Are you okay?”

Steph just barely suppresses a fresh bout of tears. “You’re really asking me that.”

“Yep. I can bet you haven’t really talked to anyone.”

He’s right, she hasn’t. The Bats prefer to grieve silently, not that talking has ever been their thing. Steph’s not close enough with Kon to talk to him about everything, and it’s not like she can talk to her mom. So really, she has no one. She can’t vent about the good dreams that are worse than the nightmares, or how she keeps looking over her shoulder, expecting to see Tim right there with his dorky little smile. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Steph lies. 

Jon sits next to her on the couch. He reaches out and starts petting Alfred with her. “No one does, but it helps.”

“Yeah? Does _Damian_ talk about what’s bothering him?”

“If I pester him enough, yeah.” A smile flickers across Jon’s lips. “He’s one stubborn guy, though. I don’t think you want to take after him. 

Steph wrinkles her nose. Definitely not. Still, she _sucks_ at talking about her feelings. 

Jon nudges her shoulder. “If you don’t want to talk to me, Alfred is right here.”

Alfred looks up at her and somehow purrs harder, as if he’s encouraging her. Okay, Steph can work with that. Talking to the pigeons outside her window is always way easier than talking to actual people, so why should this be any different?

“Um..” Steph clears her throat and presses her lips in a firm line. She keeps her eyes locked with the cat’s. “I..I guess..damn, where do I even _start?”_

_“Mew,”_ Alfred prompts. 

“I mean, I’m sad as fuck, Alf,” Steph blurts in a half-laugh half-sob. “My best friend is _dead._ I came out here to yell as his pseudo-brother because he didn’t go to his fucking _funeral.”_

She can’t get another word out before a sob cuts her off. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth to try and muffle the hitches in her breath. 

“A-and I miss him so much,” she chokes out, “who else is gonna pay for my waffles at two a.m?”

It’s such an absurd thing to say, but then again humor has always been her main coping mechanism. 

Jon slips an arm around her shoulders and gently tugs her into his side. She leans into him willingly and turns her face into his shoulder, accepting the silent comfort. Alfred seems content to be squished between them.

“He deserves so much m-more. He at least deserved to have his entire f-family there.”

“He did,” Jon murmurs.

“Why didn’t Damian go?” Steph helplessly shakes her head. “He cares, I _know_ he cares, so _why?”_

Jon sighs and rubs comforting circles on her back. “I don’t know, Steph. I really don’t know.”

It takes a few minutes before she calms down. Jon squeezes her gently and gets up to get her a glass of water. It doesn’t help how sore her face feels, but it does make her feel moderately better. She really fucking hates crying. She’s done it more in the past week than she has in her whole life. 

Steph turns the cool glass in her hands as Jon sits back down.

“Does it ever get any easier?” she asks in a near whisper.

“I wish I could say,” Jon says. “I’ve never really…”

“Lost anyone?”

“Yeah.”

Steph sets the glass down on the coffee table and says, “Kon almost came with me tonight.”

“He did?”

“I was kinda scared he’d actually kill Damian, so I didn’t let him come.” She sighs. “He’s pretty fucked up, too.”

Jon frowns and runs a hand through his hair. “I should probably talk to him, too. Rao knows Dad hasn’t.” He nudges her again. “Thanks for coming without him - I prefer Damian alive.”

“You would,” Steph snorts. Her momentary amusement fades and she mutters, “Sorry for dumping all of this on you.”

“Steph, I don’t mind, really. Those days when you and Tim would come over...they were really good.”

Steph closes her eyes. Hearing his name out loud is still too much to bear, and she doesn’t want to start crying _again._ She just nods. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the stillness broken only by Alfred’s purr. Steph sips at her water and her lips twitch.

“What?”

Steph shakes her head. “I still can’t believe Damian got shitfaced. I could barely understand him through his accent.”

Jon smiles as well. “It always comes out when he’s really tired or emotional.”

Yeah, he should know. Steph grins and says, “You should’ve seen his dorky smile when I told him you were outside. He got up so fast that he nearly fell over.”

Jon’s face turns red and he fake-coughs into his fist. “It’s getting late, we should get some sleep.”

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed! It was kinda cute, in a pathetic, drunk way.”

“Sleep sounds _great.”_ Jon gets up and stretches. “Do you need another pillow or anything?”

Steph bites back another smile. “I’m good, thanks, Jon.”

He nods jerkily, his face still bright red. “Cool. G’night, sleep well.”

“You too, loverboy.”

Jon somehow goes even _more_ red, and he bumps into the coffee table in his hurry to scurry away, Steph’s snickering following him. Teasing him about his obvious crush might just become her new favorite past-time.

Alfred doesn’t move as she opens the blanket and lays down along the couch. If anything he just gives her an annoyed look and makes himself heavier. Steph pulls the blanket over both of them and tucks it over her shoulders. 

It feels strange, being here without Tim. The silence feels denser, the room colder. Even though there are two other people (and a cat) in the apartment, she feels so, so alone.

Steph isn’t looking forward to the conversation that’ll happen in the morning. All of her righteous anger is gone, and now she’s just...sad. All she wants is an answer. They all do. Cass had told her to be gentle before Steph left for Bludhaven, and now she understands why. 

Alfred stretches out under the blanket, and his purring is tapering off as he falls asleep. Steph sighs and lets her eyes slide closed.

Sleep is a long time coming, but these days it always is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time : Damian has a hell of a hangover & yet another emotional conversation is held
> 
> I live for comments 👀


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph finally gets her conversation with Damian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little rough around the edges, probably because I'm tired and dialogue isn't my strong suit. That and sometimes Steph is hard to write? I really hope I'm getting her personality right. 
> 
> **CW's**  
>  _\- mentioned drinking_  
>  _\- mentioned death/funeral_  
>  _\- swearing_
> 
> the usual stuff i guess

Steph wakes up to the soothing sounds of muttered Arabic curses and a mug being slammed down on the counter. She peels her eyelids open and frowns at the off-white ceiling. A cabinet creaks open. She yawns and rubs at her eyes before sitting up, blinking blearily at the figure shuffling around.

Damian is in the kitchen, making...coffee? He must be desperate if he’s forgoing tea. A blanket is draped over his shoulders like a shawl, and from the couch Steph can see the tension in his shoulders. Alfred the cat is perched on the counter, watching him. 

Steph slides out of the jacket Jon lent her (it’s wrinkled from being slept in), then stands from the couch and stretches, trying to work out a kink in her neck. Sleeping on a couch never does her any favors, no matter how comfortable said couch is.

“Look who’s up,” she says.

Damian whips around, brandishing a spoon like a weapon. Steph almost laughs at how ridiculous he looks, from the blanket to the rat’s nest excuse for a hairstyle. Look ye, one and all, the mighty Nightwing!

Steph raises an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be intimidating?”

“Brown?” Damian squints and slowly relaxes from his battle-ready position. His voice is rough, either from sleep or the killer hangover he must be suffering from. “What are you doing here?”

“I helped Jon drag your ass back home last night.” Steph folds her blanket in a few expert moves. “You got shitfaced.”

Damian turns back to what he’s making. “I’m aware.”

“Are you? ‘Cause I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t remember a thing.”

Silence.

“Oh, wow,” Steph snorts. “You really don’t.”

“I remember walking into the closest bar and ordering their strongest liquor,” Damian mutters. “Now be quiet. My head is killing me.”

Steph holds back a reflexive ‘ _if only_ ’ as she sits at the table. As she crosses her arms on the cool surface, she says, “That’s what happens when you get blackout drunk.”

“A mistake I will be sure not to repeat. Now _shut up.”_

There’s the Damian she knows and...not really loves, but kind of cares about. Is entertained by? Either way, normal Damian is miles better than drunk Damian. _That_ she can say for certain.

Usually Steph would be all over making him as miserable as possible, but she can sympathize. Hangovers are the _worst._ Not that she would know, being eighteen and all (don’t drink underage, kids). 

Eventually Damian sits down across from her and puts two mugs on the table. He doesn’t look at her as he pushes the second mug in her direction before nursing his own. Steph pushes the little flare of ‘aw, he _does_ care’ under a wave of guilt and frustration.

So he’s being nice, so what? It doesn’t change the fact that she’ll be yelling at him soon. A part of her wants to go through this morning civilly, then fuck off back to Gotham without bringing up the funeral, but a bigger part knows this has to be done. If not for herself, then for his family. 

After coffee, though. Steph isn’t a monster.

A couple of minutes pass in blissful silence. Alfred jumps onto the chair next to Steph and tries to dip a paw in her coffee - it quickly devolves into a strange game of keep away. He loses interest when Jon stumbles out of his bedroom with a bedhead to rival Damian’s. He yawns and shakes his head, then catches sight of Damian.

In an entirely too-loud voice, he chirps, “Mornin’ D!”

Without looking Damian flings his spoon at Jon’s head. Jon ducks it and slides into the kitchen, smirking. Steph hides her muffled snickers in her mug.

“I hate both of you,” Damian sighs, massaging his temples. 

“You love us, actually,” Jon says.

Not one to let opportunity slide by, Steph wiggles her eyebrows at Jon. He immediately looks away, blushing faintly. This is _definitely_ her new favorite game. 

Jon joins them shortly with a glass of orange juice, like the square he is. The silence over the table isn’t as relaxed as it had been a minute ago - Steph suspects that Damian has woken up enough to puzzle out the reason she’s in Bludhaven. He’s making a valiant effort to act nonchalant, and it’s failing miserably. 

Steph waits until their drinks are drained and the irritated glint in Damian’s eye is dulled. She picks up their mugs and brings them to the sink. Jon must sense that it’s about to go down, since he doesn’t speak or move to help. He just glances, his mouth a thin line, between Steph and Damian.

“So,” Steph says as she sits back down. 

Damian exhales slowly through his nose. “Yes, Brown?”

“You didn’t go.”

“To?”

This little _shit._ Steph grits her teeth and hisses, “What the fuck do you think?”

“Do we have to do this now?”

“ _Yes._ ” 

Damian leans back in his chair and fixes his gaze on a chip in the table. “I don’t think I have to explain myself.”

“Well, I think you do. So does everyone else. Literally everyone was there, including goddamn _Wonder Woman._ I would have meant the _world_ to him if you were there.”

“The dead don’t have opinions.”

“Damian,” Jon snaps before Steph can lunge across the table and strangle him. 

Damian has the grace to wince. “Sorry. That was...in poor taste.”

“No shit,” Steph growls. “Now answer the question before I throw you out the window.”

“Brown, it’s as I told Father. I never cared for Drake.”

“Oh, you didn’t? That’s funny, seeing as it’s absolute _bullshit.”_ Steph stands up and braces her hands on the table. “I know you cared about T - about him.”

“Then you’re mistaken.”

“No, I’m not! Maybe you didn’t, like, _love_ him or anything, but you still cared - don’t even _try_ denying it. So why didn’t you go?”

“It wasn’t my place to be,” Damian says, his shoulders slumping. “No one would have appreciated my being there.

“Pull your head out of your ass - that’s not an excuse! They needed you there, and you know it.” Steph lowers her voice. “Why. Didn’t. You. Go.”

“Steph -” Jon starts, but she cuts him off. 

“Don’t. You want to hear the reason, too. So, Damian?”

“Father -”

“Bruce had nothing to do with it. Tell the truth.”

Damian closes his eyes and clenches his hands into fists. “Leave it alone, Brown.”

“Not until you tell me the real reason you skipped out. He _idolized_ you, even after everything you did. The least you could have done was say your goodbyes.”

“I said drop it.”

“No! Come, on, tell me!”

Damian slams his hands down on the table and stands so quickly that his chair tips over, roaring, “BECAUSE IT’S MY FAULT!”

Steph’s words die in her throat. Her anger drains, leaving a cold sensation in her stomach. “It’s...what?”

“It’s _my_ fault Drake is dead!”

“D, no,” Jon says gently, “It isn’t.”

“Yes, it _is.”_ Damian’s chest is heaving from his outburst. He looks like he’s either about to punch something or flee. Instead of doing either of those, he inhales a controlled breath, and straightens his posture. “I’m the reason Drake is dead.”

“Why?” Steph whispers.

“He...he came to me the night he was kidnapped.” Damian’s voice is hushed, pained. “I was leaving the manor to go on a Titans mission when he came to me with files, saying he had a lead on the Joker. Drake wanted me to help him scout a potential hiding place.

“I was stressed, and irritated. It had been a bad visit, and I had wanted nothing more than to leave. I told him -” Damian’s voice breaks, and he clears his throat. “I told him that a worthy successor to Wren wouldn’t have to ask for help like some sniveling child. I tossed his files to the side and _left.”_

It’s like he punched Steph in the gut. She’s winded, like her lungs decided to stop working.

“I thought he’d go to Father, or Cassandra. I never considered….I never _imagined_ he’d go off on his own.” Damian scoffs. “And I couldn’t even find him. A week of searching, and I couldn’t find a damn clown in an apartment.”

He finally meets Steph’s gaze, and she flinches from the raw emotion in his eyes. “So that’s why, Brown. That’s the reason I couldn’t attend his funeral.”

There’s nothing she can say to that. Her mind is at war with itself. Half of her wants to believe it really is his fault. The other side knows that the blame is on everyone. 

Jon takes a slow, steadying breath and stands. He puts a hand on Damian’s shoulder, squeezes gently, and says, “Damian, it wasn’t your fault. You were in a bad mood, and you said the wrong thing - that’s normal. You couldn’t have predicted how he’d act - no one can blame you. You did everything you could to save him.”

Damian squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, but he doesn’t reply. 

Steph can’t...she doesn’t know how to feel. Of all of the things she could have expected, this wasn’t one of them. Nothing could have prepared her for a confession like this. 

“You -” Steph pauses to inhale, hold, exhale. “I can’t make the decision to say if it’s your fault or not. I don’t know. I don’t think any of us will ever have an answer. Just...just visit him, okay? Tomorrow, in a month, whatever. He deserves it.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. She grabs her phone off the nightstand, pats Alfred on the head on her way out, and leaves.

The hallway outside feels cramped, the air stale. Her stomach rolls as Damian’s words echo in her head. 

Steph has run that night over in her head a million times. She had called Tim to tell him she was taking the night off to spend time with her mom. She asked him if he needed help, and who he was patrolling with. He had told her ‘Batman and Orphan’, and it was such a typical answer that she didn’t bother double checking. It was always good to check, just in case he was thinking of going off on his own, which he had done several times. 

How had no one realized he was alone? How in the hell had he managed to slip past the goddamn _Batman?_ Then again, Tim had always been good at getting around Bruce. When he wanted something, he got it. Too often Tim’s pride has bested his logic, which had gotten him into more trouble than it’s worth. 

Steph should have double checked. Bruce should have made sure Tim was with someone. The Bats should have paid more attention.

All of them are guilty. Even Tim, as much as it hurts to think it. 

“Steph, wait,” Jon calls as Steph steps out of the building and into the parking garage. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she says bitterly. 

“How are you getting there?”

Steph crosses her arms and faces him. “The bus.”

Jon holds up his car keys and jingles them. “I could drive you instead.”

“Can’t you fly?” 

“Well, yeah, but sometimes drives are good for clearing your head.”

Steph narrows her eyes.

“I won’t talk unless you do.”

“Doesn’t Damian need your emotional support or whatever?”

Jon sighs. “He’ll be here when I get back. That, and he told me to make sure you get home safe.”

Something in Steph’s chest twists, and the burn behind her eyes comes back. Not trusting herself not to cry ( _again)_ if she speaks, she nods. A relieved smile flickers across Jon’s face and he gestures to where his car is parked.

Steph settles into the passenger seat and buckles in. Jon gets in and turns the car on, and as they pull out of the garage she wraps her arms around herself and leans against the door.

She’s so tired of feeling like shit. All she’s been is sad, stressed, or angry since she got the news that Tim had disappeared. Every other moment she’s crying. It _sucks,_ but she supposes that’s just what grief is.

True to his word, Jon doesn’t speak unless Steph does.

She doesn’t make a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter should be up tomorrow!
> 
> Next time: Steph and Kon visit their friend


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty short, but I hope it's somewhat satisfying? Finding an ending to this was tough. 
> 
> **CWs**  
>  _\- grave visiting_  
>  \- mentions of character death  
> \- swearing
> 
> _the normal stuff_

“You can’t be serious.”

Kon laughs. “No, really! He just ripped the sleeves off like they were paper, then went back to mixing energy drinks.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

The mental image of Tim nonchalantly ripping the sleeves off of a hoodie he’s wearing sends Steph into hysterics, and they both have to stop walking before they fall over. 

It’s been a month since they lost Tim. Everyone visits his grave regularly, either just to say hello or to update him on how life is going. Thinking about him still hurts, and will for likely years, but sharing fun stories about him makes it easier. That, and visiting with a friend.

Kon and Steph usually go together. They were closest to Tim, and in these past weeks they’ve found a lot of equal ground. Steph wishes they had all hung out together when he was alive. It would’ve been a chaotic time, and Kon is a lot of fun to hang out with. She can see why Tim liked him so much. 

Steph gasps in a lungful and says, “I can’t believe I never heard that one.”

“Classic, right?” Kon leans against a tree and shakes his head, grinning. “He did all sorts of wack stuff.”

“Oh, bro, I know. Did I tell you about the time a raccoon stole his camera?”

“A raccoon _what?”_

Steph starts walking again. “Yep. He chased it for five city blocks and crawled through a pipe to get it back.”

“Holy _shit.”_ Kon smacks his forehead, cackling. “Is it bad that I can easily picture that?”

“Not if you can also picture him getting stuck, and it taking me and four other vigilantes to get him out. Yes, that happened.”

“That’s _hysterical,_ please tell me you have a video.”

“Um, of course? Who do you take me for?”

To be honest, Steph isn’t very excited to show Kon that video. It’ll probably end like all the other times they’ve looked at photos or videos with Tim in them together - in tears. Many, many tears, and a lot of emotional pain. It’s part of the healing process, though. At least that’s what her therapist says. 

Kon rolls his eyes. They catch on something ahead of them and he freezes, his grin sliding right off his face as his shoulders tense. Steph follows his gaze and freezes as well.

Damian is kneeling at Tim’s grave. It doesn’t look like he’s saying anything, but he reaches out and brushes his fingertips along the writing.

“Don’t,” Steph whispers, catching Kon by the arm before he can rush over. He’s still furious with Damian over...well, pretty much everything. Even after Steph relayed what happened when she went to confront him in Bludhaven. If she let him, Kon would probably go punch Damian in the face. Several times.

Kon doesn’t try to break free, but it doesn’t stop him from glaring daggers. Damian slowly stands and puts his hands in the pockets of his black trenchcoat. He says something, the words too mumbled for Steph to lip-read, turns, and leaves. Steph doesn’t let go of Kon until he disappears from view.

“What did he do?” Kon snaps, marching over to the grave. “I swear, if he fucked with Tim -”

“He was just visiting, Kon,” Steph says, jogging to keep up with him.

“He’s never visited before.”

“No, so this is a good thing.” Steph’s been hoping Damian would finally visit Tim. She’s been regularly checking in with Jon and Cass to see if he’s been in Gotham yet, to see if he’d actually listened to what she said. Until today, nothing.

“Good thing my ass.” Kon circles the headstone, scanning it for blemishes. 

“Damian didn’t -” Steph cuts herself off.

There’s a new flower on the grave. It’s a short stalk with clusters of white flowers, and each petal has a reddish-brown stripe down the middle. It’s unmarred by dirt and vibrant with freshness, unlike the wilting bouquet next to the headstone. 

“He left flowers,” she says softly.

Kon kneels and brushes his fingers over the petals. “That’s...unexpected.”

“Yeah.” Steph digs her phone out of her pocket and snaps a picture. Damian isn’t one to carelessly drop a flower and leave. It must have a meaning, and though it’s none of her business, Steph is too curious to ignore it.

“Whatever, at least he didn’t fuck with anything.” Kon forces a smile and sits down. “Where were we?”

Steph sits as well and puts her phone to the side. She’ll look into it later. For now it’s time to hang out with a couple of friends and try to make the most of a devastating situation. So, a normal Saturday.

“I believe we were talking about what a dork a certain someone can be.”

  
  
  
  


The laptop screen is the only source of light in Steph’s room. She pulls her blanket tighter around her shoulders as she types, trying to find a match for the picture she took of the flower Damian left. Maybe she’s reading too much into it, but it doesn’t hurt to check.

Everything he does has a purpose. He’s a weirdo like that.

Unsurprisingly, looking up ‘white flower red stripe’ doesn’t yield helpful results. Neither does five variations of the same thing.

“Come on,” she grumbles, typing in another description.

‘White flower brown stripe’ shows her exactly what she’s looking for. Steph lets out a quiet cheer. The pictures match the one she took at Tim’s grave, but they don't tell her the name. No biggie, she’ll just search google for the image, then look at related images, and...bingo.

Asphodel.

From there, it isn’t hard to look up the flower symbolism. It’s a type of lily, blah blah blah, Greek mythology. The meaning is…

Steph clasps her hand over her mouth to stop the sudden sob that bubbles up from her chest. 

All she can see is the devastation in Damian’s eyes as he tells her Tim’s death was his fault. How regretful he looked, kneeling at the grave among autumn leaves.

The little moments where his heart shined through around Tim. Them working on improving the Rook motorcycle, their collaboration on cases. Damian making an effort to fix what was broken between them.

It’s so easy to picture him spending days bent over laptops and notes, searching for a boy he’d never find alive. 

Steph closes her laptop and draws her knees up to her chest. The words on the website float in the darkness, the meaning echoing in her ears.

  
  
  
  


_‘My regrets follow you to the grave.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Directly after this the Joker mysteriously disappeared from Arkham and was never seen again
> 
> Now that this is done, I can really start working on my next project for this au, which (if it ever gets finished & posted) will be a DOOZY of a longfic. I might ask around for a beta, who knows. Maybe I'll ask my friend who has no knowledge of DC to edit it like I usually do. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I hoped y'all enjoyed this, it was fun to write. Character exploration is my passion lmao
> 
> Comments fuel my imaginative fire, and steal my teeth @ [Batshit-Birds](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/batshit-birds) on Tumblr


End file.
